


All you had to say

by kateyboosh



Category: The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Art student Fielding, First Meetings, Fluffy, Happy Ending, Love at First Sight, M/M, Music student Barratt, Noelian but AU Noelian, Plot with no porn and minimal mischief, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateyboosh/pseuds/kateyboosh
Summary: "His smile is easy, comfortable, already familiar. His eyes are the brightest blue Julian’s ever seen."For everyone who was curious how they met in the teachers AU: here's the backstory. Pure soft sweet happy fluff with a tiny bit of angst, but I promise the ending is nice.
Relationships: Julian Barratt/Noel Fielding
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	All you had to say

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this sequel would not exist had [killahdillah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killahdillah/works) and [klimt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klimt/) not worked their tag magic and requested [the original fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575626/). I adore the both of you, and thank you for letting me write this soft, happy AU.

**First term**

They meet during an open mic night.

Julian finds the flyer crumpled in the pocket of his school bag where he shoved it a week before, running late to his lecture. Today’s lecture is about as illuminating as the last one, but somehow twice as long and even drier. He smooths out the paper and doodles for a bit on the back, faces and music notes cascading in swirls and little zigzaggy patterns around the crumpled margins. He starts a tally for every time the lecturer says “uh” or “um” or “ah” or “you can find all of this in your book.” When he runs out of space on the back, he flips to the front. There are wildly drawn animals peeking out of a leafy jungle, the details written in a loose, looping handwriting.

The open mic night’s at a club, kind of a dingy place halfway between his university and the local art college. It’s a mutual gathering sponsored by student groups from both campuses as a welcome back to another term. Anyone from either campus can perform, but there’s a catch: it can’t be in your discipline.

An opposites open mic night: art students reciting poetry, music students doing live caricatures, history students playing their best worst attempts at Hendrix…. Julian isn’t expecting anything much out of the evening, but the drinks are cheap and it’s bound to be more entertaining than a night in the flat, trying to parse out a half-decent understanding of what he’s supposed to be retaining from this lecture. Never mind the rest of the coursework he’s got to do, and the composition he has to write before next Tuesday.

Besides, there are open slots for comedy. Maybe he’ll get up and tell some jokes. Amateur comedy is as far from music and education as he can tell.

*

The club is just as small and cramped as he remembers it, but even more grimy than last term. There are a couple of acoustic duos made up of economics students who are decent, followed by an electric trio of maths majors who are… less decent. Julian's not sure if he's heard a fifteen minute, three-guitar version of Light My Fire before, but when they finish, he hopes it's the last time he ever has to. The amateur poets are next up and aside from some bongo accompaniment, they’re thankfully much quieter, for both his and Jim Morrison's sake. 

Julian hangs back in the corner next to the bar. He takes a deep breath when one of the art students announces the start of the comedy section of the evening. He's up first. 

He steps into the tiny area set aside for a stage, spiky words rushing out in a flood, his hands jabbing as he paces, making jokes about wah wah pedals and lighting a cigarette he'd tucked behind his ear to blow smoke animals.

Julian hears a cackle from a table to his right consistently throughout his five minutes of material, interspersed with scattered laughter from the rest of the crowd. He mumbles a thank you to the polite clapping that follows the slight silence when he finishes. He steps out of the tiny stage area and hands the mic to the next amateur comic, and decides then and there to hit the loo and leave. He sighs. Composition’s not going to write itself, and the last time he checked, falling asleep on your books doesn’t transmit knowledge into your brain through osmosis. Unfortunately.

He’s just got his trousers zipped, turning around trying to exit the manky loo without touching anything when a kid with funny hair comes bursting through the door and runs straight into him. Before he can apologize, the kid’s looking up at him with huge eyes in the semi-dark lighting, the little sequins stitched around the collar of his t-shirt winking cheekily at Julian. He pegs the kid as an art student before he speaks. When he does, the enthusiasm of his delivery makes Julian take half a step back.

“Wow, you were hilarious! I do stuff like you!”

Julian clears his throat and rinses his hands in the sink to stall. “That right? You walk, talk, put your trousers on hovering six feet off the ground in the morning?”

The kid cackles, the same one Julian heard all through his set. His wild laugh matches his features. Julian watches the hint of a smile creep onto his own face in the mirror before he turns around.

“I’m Julian. Barratt,” he says, extending his hand and immediately withdrawing it to wipe the excess water on his jeans. “I was actually going to go grab another drink. Would you like one?”

The kid beams and grabs his hand. He doesn’t shake it; he squeezes it in both of his, then crushes Julian’s ribs in a tight hug. “I’m called Noel,” he says, turning his face to rest his cheek to Julian's chest for the briefest moment as he speaks. “D’you want to in…” Noel grabs his hand again, turning his wrist to read his watch. "Ten minutes? I'm up next."

He looks up at Julian, his huge eyes finally catching the light, and Julian hears himself saying yes, good luck, he'll stick around, meet him at the bar in ten. Noel's still holding onto his hand. 

"Alright. See you then, Julian."

His smile is easy, comfortable, already familiar. His eyes are the brightest blue Julian’s ever seen.

*

Noel does five minutes of material on his pet starfish, his style enchanting and wide eyed, an enthusiastic child telling a tall tale and believing every word to be true. The audience is quiet at first, but by the time he finishes, they’re drawn in. His words hold Julian the same way he held onto his hand.

They go back to Julian's flat that night. Eventually.

After Noel's finished, he bounds up to Julian at the bar, ever-present smile on his face. He lets Julian buy him an orange juice, “with a straw, please,” then escort him to a vacant table. They chat for a few minutes at first, until they slide into something a little deeper, talking about everything and nothing at all. The only pauses in the conversation come when one stops to laugh at something the other's said.

Noel smiles politely and lifts his elbows off the table when the bartender comes by to pick up their long-emptied glasses and tell them last call is in ten minutes. Julian looks at his watch; they’re both shocked to notice that the club’s been slowly emptying around them as they talked about art college and what it was like to study music and education at the same time and what albums they were listening to and my God, that Doors cover, what was _that_?! 

Julian watches Noel wilt a little as he realizes the end of the night's nearly there when there's still so much to cover. He thinks about the composition he’s yet to start and all the reading he’s yet to do, and then he asks Noel if he’d like to come back to his for a cuppa. The flat’s just round the corner, and no worries if he's got lectures in the morning and he can’t-

Noel’s standing up to put his jacket on before Julian blinks.

*

Julian’s studious flatmates are already asleep when he turns the key to the door, motioning to Noel to keep quiet with a finger to his lips. The door immediately squeaks and he freezes. He pushes it slightly with a fingertip and it squeaks even louder. Julian shrugs and swings it all the way open; it’s silent then, except for the sound of Noel’s hushed giggles behind him.

He deposits Noel in his room, smiling when he immediately drops to kneel on the carpet and flip through the nearest crate of vinyl littering Julian’s floor. Julian washes out a few of the more presentable mugs left in the sink and makes them tea in the tiny kitchen, all without waking anyone. It takes him longer than expected; the electric kettle’s fussy if it gets looked at funny while it heats water, and his roommate’s hidden the tea bags, and he gives up trying to find the sugar after searching through both cupboards twice. When he walks back to his bedroom, Noel's red boots are propped up at the foot of his bed and he's nearly asleep on top of the duvet.

Julian clears enough space to set the tea on his bedside table. There’s nowhere else to sit in the small room besides the tiny bit of floor space not covered in crates, or the uncomfortable chair at his desk, the one that he wants to toss into the closest skip after ten minutes of revising. That’s covered in his school books and bag and zip jacket, so he squeezes into the space left on the edge of his bed, sitting with his feet flat on the carpet. 

Noel makes a little noise, a little snuffly intake of breath as he wakes and shifts over toward the wall. When Julian follows, trying not to fall off the edge of the bed, he turns to face him on the pillow, his eyes still closed.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep, I still wanted to talk with you. What d’you think about bush babies?” His words come out in a husked, whispered rush. 

Julian smiles. He lies down, head on the edge of his pillow, and whispers back. “They're alright.”

“Good. I'm part bush baby. I was raised in the jungle. By wolves.”

Julian laughs softly. “And how did that work?” He moves closer to Noel on the pillow as his voice dips lower.

“It was alright, really,” he responds, the corner of his mouth twisting up into a smile. He opens his eyes, a flush creeping over his cheeks when he sees how close Julian's face is to his. “But that's another story for another time.”

There's a pause as each considers the other's face, Julian's eyes running over Noel's androgyne features, Noel's eyes dropping to Julian's lips, his lashes casting shadows over the pink of his cheeks.

"Julian? D’you-" he says, his voice soft and breathy and barely there.

Julian leans forward, closes the distance between them, and kisses Noel gently. His eyes are shut when Julian pulls back. They're still shut when Noel reaches forward to kiss him again.

The tea goes cold.

*

The next morning, Noel wakes in Julian's bed and rubs the sleep from his eyes. His first thought is how good Julian’s lips felt, his big hand warm on Noel’s face. The last thing he can remember before he fell asleep was Julian’s hand slipping behind his ear to smooth his fingertips over his skin. He smiles and runs a hand through his hair, letting his arm fall back on Julian's pillow. It's a nice enough place to rest his head, but Julian's chest is well comfy in comparison.

When he walks into the sitting room, Julian’s coming out of the tiny kitchen area with a plate of toast and a couple of containers of yoghurt tucked in his arm. There are two steaming mugs of tea on top of a stack of magazines on the coffee table, and spoons nestled in amidst scattered guitar picks and a packet of strings.

Julian offers him a piece of toast, grabs his mug and flops onto the sofa, his lanky legs sprawling out. "Morning," Julian greets him as he sits down. "Thanks. Morning," Noel returns softly. They sip their tea and crunch their toast in comfortable silence until Noel reaches for another piece and Julian’s hand darts out to grab his wrist. He gives Julian a grumpy little scowl for impeding his breakfast, one that's so out of character with what Julian's seen of him so far that he giggles.

“Sorry. I was hoping you wouldn’t go for any more toast. The first slice was safe, the second one was passable, that one’s questionable. Everything underneath is burnt.”

Noel cackles and reaches for the yoghurt instead. “Julian?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s the date today?”

As he considers, trying to remember if his education lecture is on the 20th or the 21st, Noel wrinkles his nose, peering at the expiry date on the container.

“Actually, what year is it?”

The other container has an even older date when Julian checks it. “Shit, sorry,” he laughs, going a little red. “This might have actually come with the flat.” He scratches at the back of his neck. “Owe you something less suspect next time?”

"Alright," Noel beams. His tea sloshes in his mug as he moves closer to Julian on the small sofa, not trying to hide it. He bumps Julian’s knee with his as Julian’s arm comes to rest behind his head on the back of the sofa. He leans back, his hair soft and ticklish against Julian’s bare arm. 

“Julian?”

"Hmm?"

"D'you have lectures today? I have one in-" Noel looks around for a clock and settles on cocking his head ( _like a bush baby_ , Julian thinks) to read Julian's watch. "-an hour."

Julian nods as Noel fidgets, running his finger around the rim of his mug and over one of the loosening seams in the knackered sofa cushions. 

"Yeah, a couple, actually." He repeats Noel's gesture and reads his own watch with an exaggerated twist of his neck instead of turning his own wrist. "In half an hour."

Noel giggles. "Cool.” He goes silent for the space of a breath. "Julian?"

"Hmm?"

"Julian, did we…?"

Julian raises a brow, waiting.

"Did we kiss last night?"

Julian considers as if he's been asked a deep philosophical question. He settles on "Yeah," a smile playing around his lips. He tries to hide it by taking a swig of his too-hot tea.

Noel nods his head, steam swirling around his face as he hides his own secret smile in his mug. He sets his cup down on the floor where he chucked his boots, curling his odd-socked feet up underneath him as he faces Julian on the sofa.

Julian's heart beats a little faster.

"Julian?"

"Hmm?"

"D’you wanna kiss me again?"

Another two cold cups of tea. They're both very late to their lectures. Noel practically floats back to Julian's flat after his. 

He sleeps in Julian's bed that night, and the next night, and the next. He makes funny noises in his sleep, little happy sounds like a small woodland creature. Julian’s never been an easy sleeper, but he finds that the soundtrack of snuffles and sighs doesn’t bother him.

Julian helps him move in by the end of the month.

*

The first weekend morning Noel wakes with Julian next to him, his school bag leaking colored pencils on the floor, his sketchbook resting on the seat of Julian’s uncomfortable desk chair, he’s greeted with an amused but sleepy grin.

“Must have been quite a dream you were having.”

Noel grins back, sheepish, and shakes his head. "I don't dream. If I do, I don't remember."

Julian stretches his long limbs out, feet tangling in the sheets at the bottom of the bed. He gestures towards Noel’s sketchbook before curling his arm around Noel until he moves closer on the pillow.

"All those noises are just ideas trying to get out, waiting for you to wake up and sketch them. You dream in the daytime."

Noel tries to cover up his smile with a yawn. When that doesn’t work, he kisses Julian instead. That works a little bit better.

**Second term**

Julian plugs his guitar into his amp and adjusts the strap.

Art dots the walls as colorfully dressed students start to file in in groups of twos and threes and mill around. Collage, photography, some interesting pieces made of bits of fabric and string, lots of paintings and a few sketches are spaced throughout the room. He hits a G, a C, a B minor, checking his tuning, then starts to play in earnest when he catches Noel’s nod in the doorway, green and silver glitter dotted under his eyes. When the idea came up a couple of weeks ago, he didn’t hesitate to agree to provide the music for the art showing/party Noel and his mates had thrown together to celebrate the end of the term.

After half an hour, Julian’s slightly confused to see what he thinks must be a very small art student dressed head to toe in pink making her way around the gallery, heading straight for the corner where they’d collected all of the… erm… saucier art. He catches Noel’s eye where he’s chatting to a couple of Julian’s mates, raises his brow, and nods his head in her direction. Julian watches him walk over smiling as he introduces himself, holding out a slightly painty hand. The little girl latches on with an equally big smile when he points over at the snack table, thankfully before she catches a glimpse of the porno mag covers Noel had painted over a couple weeks ago, giggling like a naughty schoolboy the entire time.

It’s not long before she’s slung up on Noel’s shoulders, laughing at being the tallest one at the party as he weaves through the gathering over to Julian. Noel sets her down and motions for Julian to move his guitar aside so he can fish the keys to the car out of his front pocket. He leans in to Julian’s ear.

“Friend of one of my mates was supposed to be babysitting tonight and brought their little sister to the party instead.” He drops a hand on top of her head, a little smile on his face when he looks back at Julian. “Me and Lilah are going to go get some art supplies out of the boot. She wants to do art when she grows up, just like me. Right, Lilah?” The little girl nods, waving at Julian when Noel introduces them. Her eyes go big when Julian leans down to give her a high five, keeping one hand on the neck of the guitar, pulling off a series of hammer-ons. He makes an exaggerated guitar hero face until she grins at him.

Noel’s grin is just as big as hers. He leans back in to peck Julian on the cheek before scooping the little girl back up. ”We’ll be back in a tick; don’t stop playing, it sounds amazing.”

Noel spends the rest of the evening drawing with her tucked up on the floor by the snack table, reaching up to grab her a handful of sweets in trade for her drawing of a tiger. They fill one of his spare sketchbooks with horses and cranes and fish for her to color, and when the party starts to wind down, he scoops her up and deposits her next to him to say goodbye to the guests.

Not before he holds her up to tack her tiger in a spot of honor by the door, though. So she can be part of the show, he explains.

*

They drive back to the flat, stray flecks of glitter flaking out from underneath Noel's closed eyes, Julian's curls tangled against the headrest. Noel’s paintings are stacked carefully on the backseat, secured with a spare guitar cable; Julian’s guitar is tucked in its case in the boot next to his amp and Noel’s bag of art supplies.

Julian parks across the street from the flat and leaves the radio on; none of the lights are on upstairs, so their flatmates are either in bed asleep or out celebrating the end of the term. He touches Noel’s wrist. Noel lets out a muffled half-sigh, half-groan that he knows is a poor imitation of his typical sleep noises. Julian grins, resting his hand there, waiting until Noel opens his eyes. He swipes underneath them, flicking spare bits of glitter in Julian’s direction until Julian holds his hand, swallows it up in one of his big ones.

"Did you ever think about teaching? You were really good with her tonight."

Noel smiles shyly as he considers. His voice is soft at first. "Might do. Imagine us as Mr. Barratt and Mr. Fielding." He grimaces. "It'll have to be as teachers; otherwise we'd sound like a pair of solicitors.”

Julian squeezes his hand as he leans over the console to kiss him. He doesn’t mind when he comes away covered in glitter, green flecks dotting his lips and his cheeks. He minds it even less when they head upstairs and Noel gently washes the stubborn, sparkly bits away when they’re pressed chest to chest in the shower.

*

The flat’s quiet except for the gentle hum of rain falling outside and the low buzz of the fridge and the telly in the background as Julian naps sprawled on the sofa. Noel’s flopped on the floor next to him, legs stretched underneath the coffee table. He leans back against the cushion, stretching his neck until he’s resting his head on Julian’s warm, soft body. His sketchbook is open on the table along with a couple of half-dried tubes of Pritt stick and a pile of Polaroids.

The magazines that covered the surface have all been gone through and chucked or cut up for collages and the guitar picks have been wrangled into a biscuit tin, previously home to stale biscuits that were even more expired than the yoghurts from their first breakfast together. As they’d packed, Noel had found picks in every room of the house, hiding in drawers with dusty kitchen utensils and tucked under the corners of carpets and in every one of Julian’s pockets when he’d done their laundry. He’d found two in Julian’s left shoe yesterday, and he’d laughed himself into hysterics when he reached a hand under the pillow that night and found six or seven that Julian had stashed there as a joke when he was brushing his teeth in the bathroom. “You’ve gone wrong,” he’d gasped as Julian reached into both pockets of his pajama pants and sprinkled several more colorful picks on the bed, a wild grin on his face.

He smiles at the memory, surrounded by a barricade of moving boxes. Julian’s guitar is in its case leaned up next to his amp by the door. A couple of guitar stands poke out of an open box nearby. Canvases are stacked along the walls and both of their school bags are slumped together on the floor next to several very heavy crates of vinyl. They’re getting ready to move before the next term starts, to a slightly smaller but nicer place closer to the art college. Big built-in shelves for Julian’s records, a kitchen that’s more than three paces wide, a spare room for Noel’s canvases. No roommates, quiet and studious or not. Privacy. Their very own, very real first flat together.

Noel lifts his head up, careful not to disturb Julian, and gets back to finishing up with his sketchbook. It’s become a sketchbook bordering on a scrapbook, really. There are pages of drawings, quick sketches that he’s done with a biro or a pencil or whatever he found tucked in his pockets or in Julian’s when inspiration struck. There are more detailed drawings that he worked on after lectures, lying on his stomach on the sofa while Julian wandered barefoot around the flat, strumming his guitar and singing nonsense lyrics to try to make Noel laugh. There are pages of notes, quickly scrawled names of artists he wants to check out, paintings he wants to do, assignments he needed to do. Pasted in amongst his drawings, there are Polaroids of the two of them. He likes the ones that Julian’s captioned the best.

Noel flips to the front of the book, where he’s glued an envelope to the inside cover. He plays with the flap and then opens it, running his finger over the tally marks and the cascade of music notes on the crumpled paper. He tucks the flyer safely away, shuts the book, and then slides onto Julian’s chest on the sofa.

If he kisses Julian awake and they slowly peel their clothing off and leave it in a pile that’s still there the next morning, there are certainly no roommates around to complain.

**Third term**

The new flat is nothing short of genius. Not stubbing his toes on record crates, not sitting in Julian’s uncomfortable desk chair trying to finish an assignment, not having to stifle his laughter late at night because he might wake someone when Julian gets him cackling. Not having to stifle other noises, the ones they both make when Julian pins him to the mattress and kisses him slow and deep, his hands roving all over Noel’s body. That’s all pretty genius.

Thinking about making the transition into studying art and education next year while in the middle of moving and beginning another school term is less genius.

Noel’s sat under the sunniest window in the new flat, the surprise spring rays warming his back. His school bag and textbooks are piled to his right, with his new sketchbook on top, notes for the first week’s assignments scrawled across the cover. A to do list for things around the flat is to his left, written on the back of an envelope along with a budget for the month.

A pile of pamphlets and photocopies are in his lap, the ones the nice lady in the administration office gave him. The ones about loans and grants and what he’ll have to pay back and what he won’t, if he can get the grants, and all the extra education classes he’ll have to take on to catch up to where he needs to be to graduate on time. If he can still graduate on time.

Noel feels a little bubble of anxiety in his throat sinking into his stomach. Normally, it would float out of his mouth, popping in midair when he told Julian what was bothering him, but Julian’s at his music theory lecture for at least another hour.

He’s worried that he’s right on the edge of too much. Well. He knows that he’s right on the edge of too much, and knowing that stresses him out even worse. He likes to be busy, likes letting his energy out doing projects for class and projects for his own fun, but figuring out how to pay for more education and make up for lost time isn’t fun. The anxious feeling spreading in his chest makes it harder for him to see what a clear first step out of the potential mess is.

Noel sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. He shoves the pamphlets in his school bag, far out of sight, and picks up the to do list instead. Maybe a little bit of tidying will calm him down, a little bit of clearing up his and Julian’s space before Julian gets back and plays him some of the new songs he’s been working on.

He feels a bit better when he starts hoovering the front carpet, the white noise drowning out his thoughts. He pops down to get a takeaway from the little place round the corner afterward, something quick for their lunch once Julian gets back. When they’ve kissed a bit and then eaten and Noel can hear Julian tuning his guitar up in the other room, he doesn’t think any more about the papers waiting in his bag.

*

A few nights later, he has a nightmare.

Julian wakes from restless dozing to the usual noises Noel makes in his sleep, his spine pressed into Julian's side, his body furnace-hot through his thin t-shirt. Julian shifts onto his side and moves closer, running his hand down the back of Noel's pale, warm neck, trailing his fingertips over his shoulderblade as he snuffles in his sleep.

About thirty seconds after Julian settles and closes his eyes, Noel breathes in sharply. His body tenses and jerks against Julian's, then stills. Julian reaches to draw him closer as he whines low in the back of his throat. It's followed by half-formed words that come out sounding chewed, nothing like his typical happy, relaxed sleep noises. 

Julian pulls back just as Noel comes awake, gasping for air, sitting halfway up with his fists clenched. His eyes are dazed in the half light, and his cheeks and throat are wet with tears.

Julian gasps his name, the corners of his eyes widening with alarm. "Are you - are you alright?" he sputters. He winces, his hands coming up from the sheets to hover nervously. Of course Noel's not alright; the front of his shirt around the collar is soaked and his chest is heaving. 

"I di'n't know where I was," Noel gulps, his voice thick with sleep. He swallows and unclenches his hands as he begins to come back to his body. When he speaks again, it's low and tinged with fear. "It was dark."

He tries to bring a hand up to his forehead, catching his cheek instead, and stares at it, shocked when it comes back wet. He turns to face Julian, his eyes wide.

There aren’t any tissues on the bedside table, and Julian’s shirt is halfway across the room, and the sheets are sweaty and tangled, so Julian wipes Noel's wet face gently with his hand. His fingertips brush over Noel's damp lashes when he shuts his eyes, smoothing over the curve of Noel's cheek. He wipes his damp hand on his chest and scoots closer to Noel, running his hand down his back soothingly. 

"You're alright. It was just a dream. A nightmare."

Noel squirms, pushing the blankets and sheets away from his legs. His back is so hot through the thin fabric of his t shirt; his fingers scrabble at the hem. Julian reaches and pulls the shirt over his head, wadding it up to toss it over the side of the bed.

Noel's breathing evens as he calms, the air cooling his skin. It was just a bad dream; he's safe in their bed. He shivers, feeling too cool all of a sudden.

He turns to Julian shyly and curls into his side, resting his head on Julian's damp chest. He can still feel the last traces of his tears on Julian's skin. Remembering the feeling of Julian’s callused fingertips sliding softly under his eyes makes him want to cry all over again; he swallows around a lump in his throat and blinks, forcing the prickling tears back as Julian guides them both to lie down on the pillow.

“Julian?”

“Hmm?” He swipes his hand down the length of Noel’s back, rubbing lazy circles into his spine.

“Julian, can we - can we talk tomorrow morning? About school.” Noel bites his lip. “It’s fine, really, but I might need your help figuring some things out for next term.”

“Course,” Julian responds. Noel can hear the smile in his voice. “Mr. Fielding.”

“Thanks, Ju,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Julian’s chest. “Mr. Barratt.”

He leaves his head pillowed on Julian's damp chest. Julian reaches to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear and Noel sighs. Julian keeps smoothing over the skin behind his ear, tracing the shell with his pinky finger until he drops into a dreamless sleep.

*

The week after the nightmare, after their talk, Noel feels much better. They spend the next afternoon reading through the pamphlets and drafting up a schedule of courses Noel would have to take, and they even worked out a tentative budget and looked at applying for some of the grants. Noel feels much, much better, until he notices a change in Julian. 

Julian still plays guitar at night, wandering around the flat barefoot, but he seems distracted, his fingers missing notes. He sings the correct lyrics most of the time, too. He tries to reach the phone before Noel does when it rings, and then closes the kitchen door to take the calls. Oddest of all, he organizes his records during the times when Noel’s at lectures.

Julian’s collection was always a little haphazard, as records tend to get when they’re played, slipping out of alphabetical order and into the equivalent of an archaeological dig based on what he was feeling like when he played them. The move hadn’t helped with keeping them in order either. Noel thinks he might just be overthinking the whole thing, until he notices a section of the shelf filling up with rarities - white label pressings, oddities, things that he remembers seeing Julian's eyes light up at when he found them in a bin at the market or being sold at a record fair.

He knows he’s not overthinking when he gets out of lectures early one day and the car’s not parked outside the flat. None of the lights are on upstairs, and Julian’s not in the kitchen or on the sofa. And nearly half of his record collection is gone.

Noel drops his school bag in the middle of the floor and tries not to panic. There has to be an explanation. A good one. It can’t be that Julian’s moving out, not after they’ve just gotten the flat sorted and started on figuring out his school. It can’t be that Julian’s taking his things and going-

It can’t be, because he hears the car pull up outside, and then Julian’s key is in the front door, and the alarm on his face at seeing Noel’s expression is immediate.

“Are you alright?” he asks Noel at the same time Noel asks him, “What’s going on? Where’s your records, Ju?”

Julian looks at his feet and hesitates.

"I sold them."

"But Julian, why? Those were special, you an’ your dad used to go searching for them together when you were a nipper! What about all the ones you found last month?"

“I can find them again,” Julian shrugs. He taps the side of his head. “Music on them’s all up here anyway.”

“But, Julian,” Noel starts. “They were special to you-”

Julian clears his throat.

"They're just things. They're replaceable. You're not; you’re special to me. I, uh. I want you to have this.”

Noel's momentarily speechless, relief and comfort and safety and joy flooding him as Julian pats the pockets of his jeans. He pulls a piece of paper out of his left pocket. It’s a bank deposit receipt. There’s a comma between the numbers. “To pay for next term.”

Noel’s already on the verge of tears when Julian reaches into his right pocket.

"Well. Um. That's not all. I, uh. I had some money left over. And." Several guitar picks fall out; later on, Noel will scoop them up from the carpet and carry them in his own pocket, as a good luck charm through graduation and his first teaching job and in a registry office and then on a beach in Spain. For now, they both smile, and the light catches Julian's hand as he takes it out of his pocket. Noel feels his heart leap to his throat.

Julian pulls out a silver band, slightly smaller than the one on his own hand.

Noel's eyes gloss with tears; he's shaking when he whispers “yes” and Julian slides the ring onto his finger. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title snagged from one of my favorite love songs by one of my favorite artists, [All You Had To Say](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VNp4goj50RQ) by Jani Lane. Please give it a listen; it's beautiful (and if you like it, please @ me on Tumblr, because I have a lot to say about this artist and album).
> 
> "If you could be with somebody else, who would it be and would you tell me? You don't have to answer if you choose. He said, I'd be with no one else, my love, only the moon and stars above me, cause they are the only place that compare to you. And that's all you had to say, any other words would've only got in the way"


End file.
